


Agent Unglued

by AsgardianAngel



Category: Marvel Avengers
Genre: F/M, Phil x Reader; Phil Coulson x Reader; Phil Coulson Romance; Avengers Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngel/pseuds/AsgardianAngel





	Agent Unglued

"I have never been so ready for a day to end," he says to himself as he unlocks the door to his penthouse suite. Agent Coulson was officially off duty for the next 48 hours and if he slept 29 of those hours away, so be it. After hanging his trench coat in the front closet, he removes his suit jacket as he climbs the stairs to the master bedroom to shower and change. 

Fifteen minutes later, he is dressed in grey sweat pants and a white t-shirt bearing the name of his favourite NFL team. He looked nothing like the man who left his stress-filled job an hour ago. He gets a beer from the refrigerator and opens it on the way to the black leather couch in the living room. He takes a long drink and lets his head rest on the back of the couch. This is the moment he looks forward to most: he is in his sanctuary and does not have to do one damn thing for anyone, anytime. Sure, it takes him a little while to fully relax his mind, but that's why television was created, right?

Phil's residence would surprise anyone who knows him as Agent Coulson, the always-prepared-to-execute-Plan D, self-controlled man. They might imagine him in a moderately nice apartment, in a reasonably respectable neighbourhood. Nothing could be further from the truth. Marble and hardwood floors throughout the main floor; luxuriously deep, dark carpet in the master bedroom upstairs, which is two-thirds the size of the main floor. And while he does not consider himself any type of a chef, his kitchen is equipped with high-end appliances and an island large enough to hold a six-person tent. The "living room" also has a modern reclining chair and a large-enough television, but it's most stunning feature is the view of the city. 

"TV on," he states and the voice-recognition control panel handles the command. "Favourite channels." A menu displaying schedules appears. "Soccer." The screen fills with a game in progress. "This will do. Volume down three levels." The roar of the game lessens through the surround sound's hidden speakers. Half an hour later, Phil is sleeping while the game continues. 

******** 

The building's security feed preempts the game on the large screen since you have dialed the sequence for Phil's residence. The tone wakes him up and he sees you on the television, patiently waiting for his response. "Security chat," he orders and a moment later he can hear your voice. 

"C'mon, Phil. I know you're there." 

"I'm off duty, you know. Why are you here?"

"I'm delivering pizza, Coulson." You roll your eyes at the camera. "I need to talk to you."

"How did you find me?" 

"Let me in and I'll tell you."

"Tell me, and I'll let you in. Maybe."

"Would you believe I followed you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Just let me in already. I'm here, you're here. Whatever."

"Does anyone else know you're here?"

"No. Not unless they followed me." 

"That's not overly comforting given that we're having this conversation." He sighs and allows the door to unlock. 

"Thanks, Phil. What floor are you on?"

"I'll send the elevator for you." 

The third elevator's doors open and you step inside. There are no buttons to select. It takes only seconds before you are stepping out of the elevator into a small room, not a hallway. You hear buzzing and the only door to exit this space unlocks and opens slightly. You go through the doorway and see Phil approaching. You have officially entered his private space. 

"Will this take long?" He makes a face. "I'm sorry. Come on in. Can I get you something to drink? Beer, or a glass of wine?" You follow him, stopping where the hallway ends and the main floor with the kitchen and living room begins. He turns left into the kitchen, and is waiting for your reply. You are dumbstruck by the spaciousness and luxuriousness before you. The view of the city is stunning and you lean against the nearest wall when you realize that view is simply an embellishment to his home, his "castle".

"Wine it is then. Red or white?" You heard him say something, but you have no idea what it was. He chuckles at your reaction. He gets a glass and selects a bottle. 

"Most people are good with white. You strike me as the chardonnay type. Let me know if you'd like something else." He has poured the wine and hands you the glass. Your fingers automatically close around the bowl of the glass. 

"Hello? Earth to ___." 

"Hmmm? Oh. Uh, thanks, Phil." You take an unladylike gulp of the wine. Phil grins. 

"Not what you were expecting, is it? Have a seat; take a load off." He sighs as he returns to his original spot on the couch with a fresh beer. "OK, how can I help you - at a later point in time, because I am on MY time right now?" He is still smiling, but you can tell from his tone that he means what he says.

Maybe coming clean with Phil about your feelings for him was not a good idea after all. Not when you thought you finally had him figured out and that rug has just been pulled out from beneath you. You sit at the opposite end of the long couch, getting into a comfortable position so you can look at him. You take a deep breath. And then you finish your wine. This is not how you played it out in your mind at all. 

Phil sits up, concerned with your change in demeanor. "What is it? Are you OK?" You nod, but he isn't convinced. "I'll get the wine. Don't move." You couldn't move if the place suddenly filled with smoke! He moves quickly and brings the bottle, open and ready to pour. You hold up your glass and he fills it almost to the brim. You laugh nervously. It not was supposed to be this difficult - why was that again? 

You clear your throat. "I'm actually concerned about you, Phil. I just want to know - need to know - that you're OK." Your statement surprises him. 

"Me? I'm fine. Why would you think otherwise?" He sits beside you, copying your angle, looking into your eyes, trying to figure out the comment.

You take a sip of the wine. "You just never come unglued about anything, you know? While the rest of us have a moment or two, or twenty, of well, panic, from time to time, you always stay calm. It's not normal, Phil. I'm concerned we're going to find you one day on the floor having a heart attack."

"You're concerned about my physical well-being?" He sits back. "Wow! I've never heard that from anyone. Some have questioned my mental stability at times, but they don't get my sense of humour!" 

'Was that enough?' you ask yourself. Maybe you didn't have to say anything else. You feel relief start to set in. 

"I just need to know, for my own peace of mind, that I'm not going to find you dead. That would kill me." He looks at you. Your heart is racing. Apparently another part of your brain is making words come out of your mouth, bypassing any filters. May as well go for broke. "I - I, uh, care about what happens to you, Phil. I would fall apart." You bite your lip and look down at your glass of wine. Most of the cards are now on the table.

You feel his eyes on you, and your face turning a deep pink. The silence seems to go on forever. Your inner voice kicks in: I've crossed the line. There's no going back, but I can't stay here either. 

"You know what? This was horribly selfish of me. I - I'm sorry I intruded on your weekend, Phil." You set the wine down and stand up. "You're a smart man; I'm sure if you were having chest pains, you'd deal with it as calmly as you handle everything else. I'll go." You head for the door. "Forget I came here. Enjoy the soccer game. I'll show myself out. See ya Monday." 

"Don't go," he says clearly and simply. You stop midway down the hall. "You've raised an interesting point and I'd like the chance to reply. And this isn't the type of interruption I usually get. It's actually a pleasant surprise." 

You consider the tone of his voice. Phil has never been anything less than a "tell it like it is" guy. If wanted you to leave, he'd let you. You return to the couch, still feeling guilty. You look at him; there is something different in his eyes.

"I appreciate your concern, ___. It isn't easy, keeping a level head when the first three plans have fallen through. There are times when I'd like to take the frustrations out on whatever is closest. However, as the superior in charge, it's in no one's best interest if I do. Besides, you'd be surprised how many good ideas come from hearing the rest of you come 'unglued'." He smiles.

"But how do you cope with that? I like to think I'm level-headed, but I have also had some colossal meltdowns. Not my best work or my proudest moments. But at least I get whatever the hell it is that's bugging me out of my system and I can move on. Or, at least that's my theory." 

"Cope? I don't know if I'd call it 'coping'... I have a strategy for when I come home; when I get here, in my space. I play a mind game."

"What sort of mind game?" You are intrigued by this. You take off your jacket and set it on the floor beside the coffee table, picking up your wine glass as you settle back in to listen. You take a long sip and realize how delicious the wine is. 

"I've never told anyone this. Promise you won't laugh." 

"I promise, Phil; I won't laugh. And I won't tell another soul." You take another sip. He struggles with finding a good way to begin. It's difficult for him. You have never seen him unable to convey his thoughts with difficulty. You're witnessing a side of Phil you had no idea existed, and it was a relief to see him at a loss for words.

"I come home and I imagine something like this." He leans over begins to kiss you, slowly but confidently. Somehow, he has set both drinks down without you knowing. He is gaining control over you, convincing you to do what he wants, and you are more than fine with that. You had always imagined a gentle kiss, which would suit the calm and collected agent. This, on the other hand, was authoritative, but not rough. You really had no idea... He ends the kiss. 

"I-Is that all you imagine?" You don't know how you choked out the words, and hoped they came out in the right order. 

"That's only the beginning."

"I like beginnings..." He begins to kiss you again. You are not holding anything back anymore. Your energy pleases him and he grows bolder in his actions. The man is an expert with distractions. Your shirt is open; your bra is undone. And you don't care. He stops again. He stands and pulls you up with him. You free yourself of the shirt and bra, and he appreciates the sight before him. 

"What happens next?" It's a struggle to keep your breathing in check. 

"After the beginning, there is the middle." He takes you hand and leads you upstairs. Again, you are awed at the room's luxury; so seemingly "un-Agent-Coulson". A delicious shiver runs down your spine. While you are succumbing to the meaning of the "master bedroom", he has removed his sweatshirt. There is no way anyone would suspect a toned frame, although he can maneuver as well as any of us while dressed in a suit and tie. More evidence of hidden strength. You had wondered, but never came up with this.

He proceeds to finish undressing you, silently. Then he finishes undressing himself. Not one ounce of arrogance, only complete confidence. He removes the covers and nods for you to get in. At no point have you ever felt threatened by him. If you had decided to stop, you knew you could trust him to respect that. As it was, you were not in that frame of mind at all. You wanted to see Agent Coulson lose himself completely.

And he did. Any time it seemed he was putting you first, you would say something to push him towards his own satisfaction. In doing so, you reached your own, separate and after his, which, in turn, kept his fires burning. There finally came a point where you could no longer keep up, and in that moment, Agent Coulson had complete control of himself once again. 

He also had complete control over you. 

Just as you wanted. 

 

___________

Part 2

Your eyes open to an unfamiliar view. You don't recognize anything and the ambient light from the uncovered windows isn't enough to see clearly. You hear deep breathing from the other side of the king-sized bed and turn onto your side to see who is there. Reality hits like a freight train on steroids. 

"What have I done? What have I DONE??" You forget to use your "inside voice", and Phil wakes up. "This is not good. This is SO not good."

"I disagree. This is very good." He rolls onto his side, reaches over and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. "But there is always room for improvement, don't you think?" He moves closer, his hand locking around your wrist when he senses you are going to get up. 

"We can't do this Phil."

"We can, and we did." He is lying half on you, running his left hand along your body. "And we will again." He kisses below your ear, and heads down your neck. "I promise you that." His hand reaches its goal and begins to play. Like an instrument lovingly touched by the player, you respond with sounds in perfect pitch according to his arrangement.

He plays until your song is almost over. Only then does he switch the tempo and the style, and both the player and the instrument reach the final measures in harmony. The calm and collected Agent smiles down at you and lowers his head to kiss your lips. There is nothing he can do to you now that won't drive you crazy. And to prove it, he gives you another serious hip thrust. If you could speak, you would beg him for mercy, or at least the chance to recover - again. He reads that in your eyes, and he carefully removes himself to lie beside you once again.

"You are...fascinating, ___. You know that, right?" He leans on one elbow, looking at you with what little light there is. "Well, that's not all, but's it the best I do at the moment." He lies on his back and turns his face towards you. "You're awfully quiet. It's making me nervous." He chuckles upon closer inspection.

You are asleep. Again.

********** 

Sunlight filters through the custom blinds Phil lowered when he got up. You wake up smack-dab in the middle of his large bed, completely serene. He sings in the shower, nothing in particular, and anything at the same time. He sounds beyond happy... The smile on your face turns from blissful to lusty upon reflection of the previous hours' activities. An image forms in your mind and your heart rate begins to increase as you throw back the covers and leave the bed.

The master bath is just as remarkable as the rest of the penthouse; very masculine in form and detail. The large walk-in shower is hidden around the corner from the two-person jet tub. Phil has no idea you have entered the room. You wait, leaning against the cool marble wall, for him to turn off the shower. Your heart is set to beat out of your chest if he doesn't finish soon. 

At last, water stops falling and you make your move. You stand in the "doorway" to the shower, a towel slung over your shoulder, and take a long, leisurely look at him from head to toe. His skin is bright from cleansing and the heat of the water; the room is scented from the products he uses. 

"Good morning, Agent." Your smile is sly.

"Good morning yourself. It's about time you woke up." His smile is just as sly. He watches you take in his appearance. He takes in your own. "Pass me my towel?" 

"Nope." 

"I beg your pardon?" He laughs. 

"You're not used to hearing objections."

"True; I'm not. I'll take my towel, thanks." He moves closer to you.

"And I'm not accustomed to disobeying orders, but I always consider exceptions when my personal interests are at stake." My stance makes it clear that I am not leaving my spot and he is not getting his towel. He stands so close now, he is almost touching me. I have to look up into his eyes. 

"That's a good strategy when the time is right. I've found myself in that situation; it has always proven to be the right choice. However, no one has ordered you to do anything. I just asked for my towel." His thumb traces your bottom lip. 

You poke your index finger into his chest. With every poke, he takes a step back. "That actually hurts...." You keep poking until he backs into the cold marble walls that meet in the corner. He inhales sharply at the shock against his warm skin. Quickly, you take the towel and fold it twice, throwing on the floor of the shower at his feet. "Hey!" 

You kneel on the towel. One last glance up into his eyes and you take command of this situation. Except for a low moan, he is speechless. His right palm flattens against the wall to his right. His left hand is buried in your hair; not controlling, just being. His hand in your hair makes you crazy, which, in turn, benefits you both. You take your time for as long as you can handle listening to him. When you are all but lost, you step up your game - payback for that hip thrust from a few hours ago - and send him over the edge. 

Ten minutes later, the shower is running again. Phil sits on the edge of his bed, (which he has made) getting dressed. He wears slim, black sweats but holds his shirt on his lap as though he has forgotten how to put it on. He listens to you singing in his shower and is taken by surprise at his physical response. He silently chastises himself for wanting more so soon. 

He smiles. He hasn't felt quite this relaxed in months, maybe years. He likes how this feels, and he knows he's going to do whatever it takes to see that this lasts forever. He looks towards the direction of your voice. "I should have played those mind games a long time ago. We'd have kids by now."

******** 

(Monday morning.)

Phil meets you in the busy hallway at work. You are heading for a meeting that does not involve him and he is heading for the elevator. Once you are within earshot, he asks "Can I see you for a minute in my office?"

"Not a chance." is your quiet and quick reply.

"Didn't think so." 

You are both smiling broadly, having never missed a step towards your destinations. 

Your phone tings with an incoming text message: Later tonight?

Your reply: You know it.


End file.
